Unbroken

Arishta waited until she heard a quiet snore and another peaceful breath. Next to her, an older man lay on his stomach, his arm draped over her breasts. On the other side of the bed lay a second naked woman. Both had finally fallen asleep after the exertions. It smelled of sweat and the stale sweet scent of patchouli and tasteless wine that had spread throughout the room last night. It disgusted her.
Carefully, Arishta released herself from the embrace and glided out from under the silken bed sheet. The night was almost over, but a few candles were still burning in the room. The light caressed her body. Her bare back was marked by welts, which she hid under her long brown hair. She slipped into a red, slightly transparent dress that was lying on the floor and tried, as many times before, to tiptoe quietly to the door. She did not want to wake the man and the other playmate. But this time she paused.
She turned and spotted a small dagger on the table next to the bed. The red rubies and yellow diamonds on the hilt and scabbard sparkled in the candlelight, begging her to end it once and for all. She carefully climbed onto the bed and sat on the man's back. Both slept soundly. The wine shows its full effect. In the candlelight, Arishta looked at the man's face, which had flickered into a drooling grimace. The man had become careless and had probably assumed that he had broken Arishta. She pulled the dagger from the scabbard and without hesitation, Arishta grabbed the man's damp, sweaty curls and stabbed into the soft flesh of his neck. Then she guided the unconscious playmate's hand to the hilt of the dagger and pulled it out of the artery.
Arishta was only 17 years old, but the last two years had been hell. She watched as her tormentor's blood shot out of his veins and tainted the bed and the woman - just as the man had tainted her for the last two years. It was a pity for the playmate, but Arishta and the people needed a scapegoat. Then she knocked over a candle and the curtain on the bed burst into flames. He, the God-King of Fire, was to pay for his sins and for everything he had done to her and be consumed by the flames of his element. She saw the flames spread to the bed and quietly left the room to flee into the safety of the fading night.
She had done it for her parents, who had died two years ago for unknown reasons. She had done it for her three younger siblings, for whom she was responsible. She had done it for her country, which he had driven to ruin. She had done it for herself, to finally be free. That was exactly what she kept reminding herself of from that day on, so that she wouldn't perish from her first murder.

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In response to Lady Wynter's unofficial challenge

Ink & Essence Challenge - Prose